


When the Night Meets the Morning Star

by santana-lopez (nightshifted)



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-03-05
Updated: 2012-04-11
Packaged: 2017-11-01 04:23:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/351901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightshifted/pseuds/santana-lopez
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's one of the first rules of show biz: don't get involved with a fan. AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It's one of the first rules of show biz: don't get involved with a fan.

Be appreciative and gracious, even – no, _especially_ – when they're crazy. Santana has trouble with that last one, but for the most part, she manages. She's learned that her successes ride as much on her image as they do her talent, and if putting up with a few psychopaths is all it takes to keep doing the one thing she loves in life, so be it. There's nothing quite like belting it out in front of a live audience, their applause fuelling her soul.

But because of that, because of her sultry voice, because of _fame_ , she's seen it all: the hysterical crying, the ear-shattering screaming, the awestruck looks that inevitably lead to impromptu marriage proposals. There'd been one girl who'd been so nervous she'd straight-up passed out and had to be carried out of one of her meet and greets in a stretcher.

At one particular signing, she meets Brittany.

There's nothing especially different about her, except that Santana notices immediately that she is strikingly beautiful. But still, she is just a fan among a long line of fans waiting for an autograph, a handshake, a smile and a hello.

It starts with sparkling blue eyes, a bright smile and, "Hey, I'm Brittany."

It starts with Santana's eyes fluttering shamelessly over Brittany's body and, "Hi, Brittany. Nice to meet you."

\--

It's one of the first rules of show biz, but Santana has always been a bit of a rule breaker.

All things considered, she usually does pretty well. The press, she can handle, even though she's pretty sure they're all competing to win the title of dumbest question ever asked. The paparazzi, she's used to by now. Fame comes with a price of admission, and she wouldn't do what she did if she weren't prepared to pay it.

And she loves her fans, really. She knows she owes them a lot for her being where she is and getting to do what she does. The crazy ones are a little less charming, but she has fun picking them apart with her manager at the end of the day.

It's all part of the game: act available, because everyone likes thinking that they've got a shot even when they don't. Santana's not stuck up about it or anything, but it's just a risk she's been warned not to take. And the thing is that she honestly has no trouble picking up chicks that dabble in her industry, so she doesn't need to tangle herself in any messy trysts with overemotional fans just looking for a story to tell their friends.

So Santana keeps it in her pants, even though some of her fans are totally hot.

Brittany though, Brittany just sort of happens.

\--

There's an after party.

There's an after party, and there's alcohol, and Santana has a really poor perception of what is an acceptable amount of like, _anything_ once she's knocked back a couple drinks. She's gotten over the hysterical crying, but there are really unfortunate photos of herself floating around the internet.

Anyway, she's downed enough alcohol to not really remember who the party is for, but not nearly enough for her to stop trying to articulate the answer. Basically, she thinks she's invincible, and it's pretty much the best part about being drunk.

She scans the room for familiar faces but comes up empty. She's not even sure why she's here. Some up-and-comer signed to her label, and suddenly Kurt is shoving dresses in her face, and Quinn's reminding her to _be civil_ like she hasn't been in the music industry for years.

Santana figures she'll go find the little firecracker, pat her on the back for the deal, and sneak out. She doesn't get much time off these days, so she'd really rather spend it actually relaxing instead of being surrounded by all these fake ass people. And besides, the alcohol is giving her a seriously nice buzz, and she plans on not letting anyone kill it.

She stands up from the couch, but she's overestimated her body's tolerance to alcohol and wobbles slightly in place, hands instinctively reaching out in search of balance. A long, pale arm snaps out to steady her.

Santana follows the arm up to the face of a blonde watching her in amusement. The woman immediately looks familiar, but Santana can't exactly place her, and her state of inebriation isn't helping her memory or her vision.

"It's Brittany," the girl supplies with a laugh. "I was at the signing yesterday, but I know there were a lot of people, so you probably don't—"

"Brittany, no, I remember you." Santana squeezes her eyes shut for a moment in an effort to refocus them. She refuses to miss any chance to ogle a cute girl, and this girl is seriously cute. "What are you doing here, Brittany?"

"Radio contest." Brittany offers a crooked, almost apologetic smile. "Fifth caller, and all that. I was actually trying to call my cat, but I dialed the wrong number, and they told me I won a four-day trip up to LA to see you in concert and all this cool backstage stuff."

"So you're not really a fan." Santana's eyes skim shamelessly over Brittany's curves, accentuated by her skin-tight dark blue dress. "That's actually better, because—"

"No, I totally am!" Brittany cuts in. "Your music's so awesome. My friends and I love to dance to your tracks." She pauses thoughtfully, as though she's just caught up. "Wait, why would that be better?"

The alcohol in Santana's bloodstream makes it easier to smirk and say, lowly, "'Cause then I could take you home."

Blue eyes light up for a moment before they darken, and Brittany's leaning in and whispering, "I could pretend to hate your music instead."

Santana only hesitates for one second before she's threading her fingers through Brittany's and guiding her out the back.

\--

Santana takes Brittany home, like to her actual _house_ in Beverly Hills, which seems to surprise Brittany, but the truth is, Santana doesn't trust hotels, doesn't even really trust Brittany at this point, and her home is the only place where she's sure she'll be safe from the paps. She doesn't exactly want to have to explain what she's doing in a hotel she's not staying in if she's caught leaving it. There are enough trashy gossip blogs trying to paint her as the stereotypically bitchy, oversexed Latina that she isn't. Well, except the bitchy part. And yeah, she likes orgasms, so…

"You _live_ here?" Brittany asks her, staring up at the looming building, awe striking her features. "By yourself?"

Santana laughs as she leads Brittany up the front steps. "Yeah, most of the time."

Santana kicks off her stilettos at the entrance, and Brittany does the same, then follows Santana further into the house, deliberately taking slow steps as though to give herself a chance to absorb her surroundings.

"You want something to drink?" Santana offers.

Brittany shakes her head. "No thanks."

Santana rolls on the balls of her feet, suddenly nervous. Because she's got the girl here, but the alcohol is starting to wear off, and she's second-guessing her decision to invite her in. For all she knows, Brittany's going to fuck her and then take the story to the press. Not that there's any scandal there. Most of her fans are well aware that she's into women. She's just never straight-up said the words, and she'd really rather not be dragged out of the closet she was never really in, all because of one poor decision made by her vagina instead of her brain.

All she wants to do is fucking sing, not make herself some lesbian symbol.

Brittany is eyeing her curiously. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah." Santana clears her throat. "I'm going to go get into something a little more comfortable."

"But why?" Brittany scrunches up her nose adorably. "Aren't you going to just let me take it off after?"

Brittany's eyes are so sincere that Santana almost laughs. "That was the plan."

Brittany watches her expectantly. "But…?"

Santana swallows hard, pushing away her reservations. It's been a while, and there probably won't be another opportunity like this anytime soon considering her work load. "But nothing," she murmurs, stepping closer until their bodies are almost touching.

Brittany smiles brightly at her before leaning down and capturing her lips in a sweet kiss, hands roaming up Santana's sides. Santana's hands reach up around Brittany's neck, and she has to tilt her head up a little, but Brittany's lips are soft and warm as they move against hers. Brittany's gentler than Santana had expected her to be, but before she has a chance to finish that thought, Brittany's hands grip Santana's thighs, lifting her off her feet in one smooth motion. Santana lets out a groan as her legs part automatically, and suddenly she finds herself wrapped around Brittany's hips. The hem of her short dress rides up her thighs, and her arms tighten around Brittany's neck instinctively.

Brittany breaks away. "Picking you up seemed like a good idea," she says, trying to catch her breath, "but I don't know where your bedroom is." She looks genuinely concerned and eyes the couch.

Santana laughs, leaning her forehead against Brittany's. "It's upstairs. Let me down for a sec."

Brittany loosens her grip enough for Santana to slide down and back onto her feet. Santana takes Brittany's hand and leads her upstairs to her bedroom. As soon as they're inside, Brittany picks Santana up again and walks to her bed before gently dropping her down and climbing on top of her like she's been here a thousand times before. It puts Santana at ease.

Brittany fingers the material of Santana's dress for a moment, drawing haphazard shapes to the red fabric. She doesn't seem to be in any rush.

"You're so pretty up close," Brittany whispers, eyes tracing over Santana's face. "Like, super pretty." She leans in and presses a soft kiss to Santana's lips, her palm sliding up her neck.

Santana shuts her eyes against the sensation, her own hands moving to Brittany's back and finding the zipper along her spine. Slowly, she pulls it down, and she feels Brittany arch into her, and then Brittany's kissing her again, licking into her, and Santana lets out a moan.

Brittany slides her dress down the rest of the way and leaves it crumpled at the end of the bed. Santana takes in the sight of the exposed skin and can't help but lean forward and kiss a path down the column of Brittany's neck, over her collarbone and between her bra-covered breasts. Brittany's abs are toned and solid to the touch, and her legs seem endless.

Santana barely registers herself asking, "Where are you from?"

Brittany tenses, as though surprised by the question. "Arizona. Born and raised just outside Phoenix."

Santana nips at Brittany's chest, hand reaching around to unhook Brittany's bra. "What do you do, Brittany from Phoenix, Arizona?"

"I dance, mostly. I teach classes, sometimes."

Brittany's breasts fall free as Santana manages to rid her of her bra. Santana licks her lips before lowering them to Brittany's skin, kissing over the curve of her breast until her tongue teases a nipple. Brittany makes a soft noise of encouragement.

Santana slides across to lavish attention to the other breast, which gives Brittany the opportunity to find and open the zipper on Santana's dress. Santana lifts herself to peel it from her skin, leaving it near Brittany's at the foot of the bed. She pops her bra and tosses that aside, too, and then Brittany is reaching forward to cup her breasts.

Brittany stares at Santana's body reverently as she sits up and pulls her closer until their chests touch. Santana shivers.

"You're so tense," Brittany murmurs, pressing a kiss to her jaw.

Santana takes a deep breath. "Lie down and lean back."

Santana slips her fingers under the fabric of Brittany's underwear and pulls it down her legs, exposing her. Gently, she spreads Brittany's legs and settles between them. She dips her head down and closes her mouth around Brittany's entrance, tongue darting out to swipe at the wetness collected there. Brittany moans, canting her hips against Santana's lips.

Santana moves faster then, lips and tongue slanting across and in. The feel of Brittany's skin, the way her muscles tense and relax around her as she pleasure her – Santana can't get enough. She slides her lips up to Brittany's clit and sucks gently on the hardening nub. 

Brittany gasps. "Finger me," she pleads.

Santana complies, bringing a hand up to Brittany's entrance and coating her fingers with the moisture she finds there. She dips one finger in, withdraws, then pushes back with two, and Brittany groans, head thrashing to the side. Santana finger fucks her slowly as her lips stay on Brittany's clit, until Brittany's practically curling around the point of pleasure, her chest rising and falling attractively.

Brittany tumbles over the edge with a whimper, hands sliding into Santana's hair to keep her mouth in place. Her body quivers, thighs clenching around Santana's head. Santana strokes in slow and steady until Brittany nudges her away with a moan. Santana licks her lips, wipes her chin, and climbs back up the length of Brittany's body to rest her head against Brittany's heaving chest.

As soon as Brittany catches her breath, she flips Santana over and straddles her hips, eyes bright with promises of what's to come. Brittany leans down to kiss Santana, tongue darting in to taste the remnants of herself. Santana bucks her hips; she's impatient. Brittany slants her lips down to pepper kisses along Santana's pulse point, and Santana feels her smile against her skin.

"Brittany…"

Brittany slides a knee up between Santana's inner thighs until it presses lightly at the apex.

"Tell me what you want," Brittany breathes out against her ear.

Santana moans. "I want—your tongue. Inside me."

Brittany grins, pressing a kiss to Santana's lips and letting her tongue slide along her upper lip. Brittany lifts herself to her elbows and stares down at Santana, almost as though searching for something. Santana, for all her confidence, squirms self-consciously under Brittany's gaze.

Brittany laughs. "You're just like everyone else," she whispers, dipping her head to peck Santana's lips. She sounds like she's awed by this discovery.

Santana, to her embarrassment, blushes. "What'd you expect?"

Brittany's hand reaches down between Santana's legs to play with her clit. Santana groans at the stimulation, at the look on Brittany's face like she still can't believe where she is.

"I was nervous," Brittany explains quietly, "'cause I thought you took girls home all the time."

Santana smiles faintly. "You're pretty much the first." She doesn't know why she admits that.

Brittany's cheeks flush, and she ducks her head to hide it. With slow, deliberate movements, she slithers down the length of Santana's torso, peppering kisses along a curved path down Santana's chest. She takes a nipple into her mouth, sucking gently. Santana squeezes her thighs together in an attempt to relieve some of the pressure, but she ends up grinding against Brittany's knee instead.

Brittany presses haphazard open-mouthed kisses against Santana's abdomen before trailing down to press her lips against Santana's center, her nose nuzzling Santana's clit. Brittany goes to work then, giving Santana what she wants, where she wants it. Her tongue swirls and dips, thrusting in before slanting up to roll over Santana's nerves, then back down again. Her lips slide shamelessly around Santana, warm and wet and willing. Brittany moans like she's the one being touched, like she's the one with a practiced mouth between her legs, being eaten out.

Santana comes suddenly, almost unprepared, when Brittany curls her tongue and uses two fingers to slide wetly against Santana's clit. Santana's hips thrash wildly as she rides out her orgasm, and Brittany keeps herself moving, grabbing Santana's thighs over her shoulder to hold them still.

When Santana's body finally slackens, Brittany lifts herself to place one wet kiss over each of Santana's hipbones before climbing up the rest of the way and curling against Santana's side, her body half resting over Santana's.

Santana brings her hand up to stroke Brittany's cheek. "Hey."

Brittany stirs. "Hm?"

Santana knows that thank you isn't the proper etiquette here, so she just pulls Brittany closer and navigates their bodies until she has her covers draped over them. Brittany's hand rolls over Santana's breast, and she keeps it there when her eyes flutter shut. Her breathing evens out, and she dozes off.

Santana watches Brittany sleep for a while, then slowly drifts off herself, one arm draped over Brittany's hip.

\--

It's the best night of sleep Santana has in ages, and when she wakes to sunbeams pouring through her curtains and a pretty blonde snoring lightly at her side, it's probably the happiest she's been in a while, too.

Brittany wakes with a tiny whimper as she pulls Santana closer, burying her face against Santana's neck.

Santana laughs. "Morning."

Brittany's eyes flutter open, and her entire body tenses for one moment before she relaxes again. "Santana."

Santana presses a kiss to Brittany's nose and runs her fingertips down Brittany's arm. "When's your trip end?"

"I fly home tomorrow morning." She smiles sadly. "I should probably go soon, though. I'm meeting up with a friend from high school who's gonna show me around. We'll both be at your concert tonight."

Santana tries not to let her disappointment show. "Yeah, sure, okay."

Untangling herself from Brittany, Santana keeps the covers pulled to her chest as she sits up. It's completely idiotic to be upset that Brittany is leaving, but she is. She doesn't know anything about the girl other than the fact that she knows her way around a woman's body and isn't shy about it, and yet…

Brittany is generous with her affection, but not in a predatory way where she expects something in return. It's attractive to Santana, who works day in and day out with people whose smiles are as fake as their assets, and god, it doesn't help that Brittany's fucking gorgeous, too.

Brittany seems to sense the sudden discomfort, because she pushes herself up onto her elbow and frowns. "Santana?"

Santana turns to look at Brittany over her shoulder.

"Everything okay?" Brittany asks, reaching out to stroke Santana's bare back.

"Yeah, I just—" Santana shakes her head. "I'll call you a cab?"

Brittany's eyes are conflicted when she bites her lip and nods. "Okay. Thanks, Santana."

When the cab arrives twenty minutes later, they're both dressed and washed up, and Brittany's halfway through a bagel and a cup of coffee, hunched over the morning paper. Santana doesn't know what to do except watch her from the other side of the table as she sips at her own coffee. At the sound of the cab, Brittany walks around the table and leans down to press a kiss to Santana's lips before she slips out the front door without another word.

Brittany's gone a good five minutes before Santana notices the phone number scribbled on her napkin.

\--

Quinn drops by in the early afternoon with a few cartons of takeout and a six-pack of beer. She's getting plates out of the cupboards when Santana enters the kitchen, humming to herself. Quinn does a double-take, and when realization dawns on her, she rolls her eyes.

"You got laid."

Santana smirks. "Yup, sure did. She was hot, too."

"Who was it? Is she out professionally? Should I be on the phone with her manager right now?"

Santana rolls her eyes as she grabs one of the takeout cartons and peers inside. "Relax, she's not famous. She's a dancer from Arizona and she likes jamming to my music. She was at the signing on Thursday, and I saw her again at the after party last night. We hit it off."

"You slept with a _groupie_?"

"It wasn't like that," Santana insists. "Jesus, Quinn, you act like I wandered into a leper colony and grabbed the first thing with legs."

Quinn glares at her. "Do you even know her name?"

"Yeah. Brittany."

"Full name," Quinn clarifies.

Santana shrugs her shoulders. "Didn't ask."

Quinn pulls out her phone and starts punching buttons. "Do you have any idea how many Brittanys there are in Arizona?"

Santana munches on an eggroll. "Well shit, if I'd known that I would be playing Trivial Pursuit at lunch, I would've brushed up on my pointless facts last night instead of eating out this hot chick."

Quinn grimaces. "You're disgusting. This could be a PR nightmare."

"She's not going to rat me out, Q." Santana believes that, even if she's been given no real reason to, especially with what she's seen in her line of work.

Quinn looks skeptical. "You can't possibly know that."

"It wasn't like that," Santana maintains. "She didn't—treat me like I was different." Santana flushes. "Look, it's not a big deal. I'll call her, and—"

"You have her number?"

Santana motions at the napkin that's still sitting on her kitchen table, untouched. "Weren't you just flipping your tits about not being able to locate her? I saved you like ten minutes of googling. I'm gonna call her and tell her that it was a one-time thing. Happy?" Santana's starting to get irritated, and though she knows, rationally, that her anger is misguided, she takes it out on Quinn anyway. "Everyone knows that I like pussy, all right? And nobody cares."

Quinn shakes her head and laughs humorlessly. "You are so naïve. Who do you think your sponsors are?"

"Dicks, apparently," Santana grumbles, "if they'd pull sponsorships over me being lady-loving."

"You know what? Those dicks control a huge portion of your income and your success in this industry, so if you want to keep living the lifestyle you're living, you need to smarten up."

Santana shuts her eyes. She doesn't want to fight about this anymore. "She's not going to tell," she says quietly. "You weren't with her, okay? Trust me."

Quinn sighs. "Call her. Make sure she understands the severity." She shoves a carton of takeout at Santana, but she's laughing a little when she says, "You're a damn headache."

Santana leans over and kisses Quinn's cheek. "Love you."

Santana forks down a few mouthfuls of chow mien before she takes out her phone and dials Brittany's number from the napkin. She can't explain her nerves – her hands are sweaty and her heart is pounding in her chest – because she doesn't even get like this before live shows, and talking to some hookup should be way easier than that.

"Hey! You've reached Brittany S. Pierce. I'm probably out looking for Lord Tubbington again. Leave me a message!"

Santana glances at Quinn. The line beeps before Santana has a chance to hang up. She swallows thickly and hopes that whatever comes out of her mouth next isn't too embarrassing.

"Hey, Brittany, it's Santana. I, uh, I need to talk to you. Call me back."

Santana only realizes she hasn't given her number after she's hung up, so she has to redial and leave a second message, and she's pretty sure she's beet red by the end of it. It's embarrassing that she's so embarrassed. She's supposed to be used to talking to cute girls, but there's something about the way Brittany had looked in the early morning glow that made Santana nervous.

Quinn gives her a look when Santana hangs up the second time.

"Shut up," Santana tells her preemptively.

Quinn shakes her head and returns to her lunch.

Brittany doesn't call her back, but the internet also doesn't explode with stories about Santana fondling tits, so. She's pretty sure that's all behind her, and Brittany hadn't seemed like the type to exploit her for cash. She'll probably never see Brittany ever again in her entire life.

Santana doesn't expect to be as sad as she is about that.

\--

Right before the show that night, Santana's phone buzzes with a text message from Brittany that says: _sorry, out with sam all day. can't call now, already inside and it's super loud. sup?_

Santana wants to ask who Sam is, and is that short for Samuel or Samantha or something else entirely, but instead, Santana taps back: _do you want a backstage pass? what's your seat number?_

Brittany texts back her seat number, and Santana finds Quinn to ask her to get someone to deliver two VIP passes to Brittany. Quinn arches an eyebrow at her.

"Santana," she admonishes.

Santana shakes her head. "I just want to talk to her about what happened. Her friend's with her. I won't do anything stupid."

Quinn appears skeptical, but she agrees to make sure Brittany gets her hands on the passes.

\--

" _How's it going, Los Angeles?!_ "

The crowd roars to life as the first beats of the first song pump through the speakers. There's nothing like the feeling of performing, and adrenaline carries Santana through her songs. She loves this, loves sharing her music and being the center of attention.

Halfway through her set, she finds Brittany on the floor, watching her perform with the biggest grin on her face, and Santana smiles back.

\--

Backstage after the show, Brittany's waiting for her, VIP pass hanging around her neck. A blond-haired man is standing next to her with his hands in his pockets, the second pass hanging off his belt.

Brittany's eyes light up when she sees Santana entering. "Hey!"

"Hi," Santana replies, then turns and acknowledges Brittany's friend with a short nod. She'd really only invited him out of courtesy, but she can't exactly tell Brittany that, so she clears her throat and tries to think of a way to make that known without sounding like a total bitch. She's not even sure why she suddenly cares what Brittany's friend thinks of her.

"Is the band around?" Brittany asks suddenly. She points a thumb at her friend. "Sam kinda has a crush on your pianist and was hoping to meet her."

Sam ducks his head and nudges Brittany.

Santana laughs, eager to grab any excuse to be alone with Brittany. "Tina? Yeah, of course. She should be a couple doors down. Check the nameplates on the doors, and don't be afraid to knock if it's closed. She's friendly about meeting fans."

Sam thanks her and quickly excuses himself. As soon as he's out the door, Santana moves to shut it, then turns back to Brittany.

"You don't have to worry about me stabbing you in the back," Brittany says with a tiny shrug. "I respect you way too much to do that, both as a musician and as a person."

Santana shakes her head, feeling her cheeks flush. "That's not what—"

"Yeah, it is," Brittany cuts in, "and that's okay." She doesn't look upset, just disappointed.

"For what it's worth," Santana offers, feeling a twinge in her chest, "I didn't think you would. It's just, my manager handles most of my PR, and—"

Brittany stops her. "I get it. You don't have to explain, Santana."

Santana doesn't know how to tell Brittany that she makes her feel human in a business that is far from it. Makes her feel vulnerable, like Brittany could peer into her soul and see all of her secrets, her fears, her hopes and dreams, even the ones she doesn't – can't, _won't_ – admit to herself. And all that after one night rolling around in the sheets. It terrifies her.

Brittany tilts her head. "Santana, you have to know, I didn't sleep with you because you're famous. I don't want anything from you, and what we did, you shouldn't be afraid of it."

"I'm not," Santana replies automatically, even though she had been, just a little.

"I had a lot of fun," Brittany continues, "and you're so gorgeous when you let go." She offers a crooked smile. "I'm glad I got to see that side of you."

"Brittany…"

Santana takes the few steps between them until she's standing close enough to count Brittany's eyelashes. She wants to feel that again, being open and unafraid. She forgets what she'd wanted to say, forgets all the words to express exactly how Brittany had made her feel, so instead, she rises slightly on her toes to brush her lips against Brittany's. Brittany's arms close around the back of her neck, pulling her closer.

Santana pushes Brittany against the couch and sinks down after her, hands roaming shamelessly over Brittany's curves. Brittany responds in kind, fingertips dipper under the hem of Santana's dress to run up her thigh. Santana's leg slips between Brittany's, pressing down until Brittany throws her head back, biting back a moan.

Brittany's VIP pass digs into Santana's chest, a harsh reminder of who Brittany is supposed to be.

There's a knock at the door, and Santana freezes. She sighs against Brittany's neck before detaching herself and rising from the couch, hastily readjusting her dress. She waits for Brittany to sit up before walking over and answering the door.

It's Quinn, who takes one look at Brittany and throws Santana a dirty look.

"We have to pack up and clear out soon," Quinn tells her. "Just a heads up."

"I'll go get Sam," Brittany pipes up. She approaches Santana and gives her a tight hug and a kiss on the cheek. "It was really nice meeting you, Santana."

Brittany lets herself out. Quinn enters the room and shuts the door behind her.

"How'd it go?" Quinn asks cautiously.

Santana is quiet when she answers, "Nobody's ever made me feel the way she does."


	2. Chapter 2

After the release of her second studio album, which goes platinum in the United States and is received favorably among critics, Santana goes on her first real concert tour across North America. She's done smaller stints before, mostly on the west coast, but nothing of this magnitude. Nearly forty shows in two and a half months. Her dietitian has her on about ten different supplements to help keep her energy levels up.

The fifth show on her tour is in Phoenix. It's been about ten months, not that she's counting.

Santana's mind wanders the entire night, and she knows that she puts on a mediocre show at best. She's displeased with her own performance, and she ends up tearing through her staff backstage like she's on a warpath. She just hates the feeling of _want_ that she hasn't been able to shake, hates that the feeling has only intensified since they'd landed in Phoenix. She just hasn't been able to get Brittany out of her head.

She manages to keep her cool with a few eager fans with backstage passes, but once they're ushered out, she blows off everyone else who tries to talk to her, then retreats to the hotel as soon as she has a chance to get away.

Once she's showered and changed and basically settled into bed, someone knocks on her door. Santana groans and gets up to answer it, prepared to bitch out whoever's on the other side. It's Quinn, who pushes her way in and shuts the door behind her.

"What is _wrong_ with you?"

Santana rolls her eyes. "Off night," she dismisses.

Quinn purses her lips. "I'm talking about the twenty people licking their wounds that I passed on my way here. Look, Santana, do you need to see a professional for the stress? I know this really great therapist who works with a bunch of high-profile clients in the industry."

Santana bristles. "I don't need to see a fucking shrink."

"There's no shame in—"

"Will you save the speech? I'm not knocking therapy, but I'm fine."

Quinn deflates. "I'm just worried about you," she says softly. "We all are."

"I'm fine," Santana reiterates.

"It's been almost a year." There's this look of pity in Quinn's eyes that Santana immediately resents.

Santana shakes her head, even as her stomach flips. "No idea what you're talking about."

"Do you still have her number?" Quinn presses.

Santana swallows hard. "Whose number?"

Quinn sighs, then reaches into her pocket and pulls out a small card. Wordlessly, she hands it to Santana, who takes it with reluctance. A phone number is scribbled on it in Quinn's neat handwriting. Santana immediately recognizes the number and laughs dryly before trying to hand the card back to Quinn.

"I don't need this."

"Take tomorrow off," Quinn suggests.

Santana shakes her head. "No, Quinn…"

"For everyone's sake, but mostly your own, take the day off. You've got almost a week before your next show in Salt Lake City. I'll push back the flight. You're useless in your current state, so do whatever you need to do." Quinn pushes the card back into Santana's hand and closes her fist around it. "Just be careful."

Santana bites her lip. "I don't even know if she's still—"

"Hey, cut that out," Quinn interrupts. "The Santana I know would be all over that – and I quote – hot piece of ass."

Santana laughs in spite of herself and rolls her eyes. "I thought your job was to look out for my career."

"Oh please, I hardly get paid enough to put up with all of your shit," Quinn fires back playfully. "Besides, I hired you a publicist and relegated all your PR to her, remember? I'm your friend first, Santana, and I've seen how freaking miserable you are when you're thinking about her."

"So you're a mind reader now?"

Instead of being insulted, Quinn just appears sad. "That look you had every time we went over the tour schedule and passed the Phoenix date? It was pathetic." She reaches over, takes Santana's hand in hers and tugs gently on it before letting go. "Listen, just… keep me in the loop, okay? I don't want to find out from some trashy gossip blog that you're banging one of your fans."

Santana groans. "Just admit you want the sordid details so you can live vicariously through my sex life, Q."

Quinn covers her ears and grimaces. "Okay, I'm leaving."

Santana blows her a kiss on her way out.

Once the door shuts, Santana plays with the card for a moment, memorizing the numbers written on them as though they'd disappear otherwise. She just can't wrap her mind around the idea that she might get to see Brittany again. She checks the time. It's late, but she doesn't think she'll be able to hold off until morning, so she picks up her phone.

Santana's a little embarrassed to admit that she never deleted Brittany's number, and that she's seriously contemplated calling it a few times before remembering that the best thing she can do for both of them is probably to just leave Brittany alone and forget about their encounter.

This time, with the card still clutched in her hand, Santana hits call. After three rings, Brittany answers.

"Santana?"

Santana doesn't fight the grin that spreads across her face. "Hey. Did I wake you?"

"Hi!" Brittany chirps back. "No, I'm awake. What's up?"

"Nothing. I, um." Santana pinches the corner of the card nervously. "I just wanted to see how you were doing."

"I'm great! I took up mountain climbing last week. It's super fun. You should come climbing with me sometime, when you're not, you know, doing all that music stuff."

Santana loves how simple Brittany makes it sound, how easy, like it's an everyday occurrence to just drop 'all that music stuff' and go climb a fucking mountain in the middle of the Arizona desert. Suddenly, she craves that normalcy.

"That's actually kind of why I called," Santana explains. "I had a show tonight in Phoenix, and—"

"Oh yeah! I tried to get tickets, but it was already sold out."

Santana bites her lip. "I could've gotten you in."

Brittany seems to hesitate, and her reply is low and deliberate. "Yeah, but that wouldn't be fair."

"Why not?"

"I mean, I didn't want you to think that I was just using you to get free stuff," Brittany explains. "Especially because you were all worried that I'd tell everyone that I got to give you an awesome orgasm, you know? I didn't want you to think I was like, blackmailing you or something."

Santana flushes at the mention. The memory of Brittany moving over her has never faded. Then, Santana hears a voice in the background. She can't make out the words, but the voice is distinctly male.

"Be right there, Sam!" Brittany calls to the other person, her voice muffled by what Santana assumes is her hand covering her phone. "You can start the movie; the first fifteen minutes are totally boring." Brittany returns a moment later. "Sorry about that," she says, to Santana this time. "You've met Sam, right? He decided to move back home, and we roomed up!"

Santana flushes again, this time for an entirely different reason. "Oh, I—" _Fuck_. "I should probably go."

"Santana, we're not—" Brittany laughs. "I'm not sleeping with Sam. He's just like my best friend in the entire world."

Santana shakes her head, even though she knows Brittany can't see her. "That's not what—"

"You want to grab a coffee tomorrow?" Brittany cuts in. "Catch up and stuff? Wait, don't you have like a bajillion more concerts?"

"I've been given tomorrow off." Santana tries to calm herself down. It's seriously stupid how fast her heart is pounding. "Yeah, okay, let's grab a coffee."

"Okay," Brittany echoes. "I'll text you the address of this cute coffee shop by my place. We can meet after lunch, maybe around two? It's pretty quiet, so I don't think you have to worry about being bothered."

"Sounds good. See you tomorrow, Brittany."

"Later, Santana."

Santana drops her phone and slides down onto the bed, turning to press her overheated cheek against the cool sheets. She's supposed to be the one brimming with confidence, and normally, she is. But while she's accustomed to throngs of girls throwing themselves at her, she's not accustomed to putting herself out there for one person.

Her phone buzzes, and she jumps, but it's only Brittany texting her the address like she'd promised. Groaning, Santana turns off the lights, climbs under the covers, and tries to sleep.

\--

The next morning, Santana sleeps in. It's mid-morning by the time she finally gets out of bed, and she learns through her voicemail that Quinn has bumped her up to the presidential suite for the night. There are keys to a rented car in the foyer of the suite when she enters, and several outfits hanging in the walk-in closet, with a note from her stylist Kurt explaining that he'd hand-picked them for her.

"Reassuring," Santana mumbles as she skims over the dress selection and mentally eliminates the ones she'd never wear because they make her look like a peacock.

Having skipped breakfast, Santana orders up lunch and wolfs it down on the balcony. When Quinn calls to check up on her, instead of admitting that yeah, she's nervous as fuck, Santana deflects a lewd comment that she knows Quinn sees right through.

\--

The coffee shop Brittany chooses is just like she'd promised: tucked inconspicuously in a corner of her neighborhood, and quiet. Not exactly great for business, maybe, but great for Santana not having to worry too much about being recognized.

When she arrives, Brittany is already there, seated at the table in the back, coffee mug cradled in her hands. Brittany is poring over a magazine and doesn't immediately notice her. Santana slips into the seat next to her, and Brittany looks up and cracks a bright smile.

"Hey!"

Santana smiles back. "Hi."

Brittany is sporting these suspenders over her shirt that shouldn't be as cute as they are. She motions toward the counter. "You want something to drink?"

Coffee. Right. "Yeah, I'll just—be right back."

Santana rises from her seat and walks up to the counter. The barista seems to study her a little longer than socially acceptable, as though he's trying to place her, but Santana quickly distracts him with her order. As soon as Santana returns to the table with her drink, Brittany's hand covers hers on the table.

"Santana, can I ask you a question?" Brittany waits for Santana's nod to continue, "Is this a booty call?"

Santana nearly spits out her coffee. " _What?_ "

"Did you call me because you wanted sex and figured I'd be a safe option?" Brittany clarifies without shifting her expression. "Because that's okay. I'm totally awesome at sex, and I really like doing it with you."

Santana feels the tips of her ears burning. She recalls her conversation the previous night and realizes that's exactly how it had sounded. "No, I—that's not why I called. I just wanted to spend some more time with you."

Brittany smiles faintly. "You're nervous."

"A little," Santana admits with a short laugh.

Brittany shakes her head. "Don't be. I've already seen you naked."

Santana flushes. "That's not really… I mean, that doesn't—"

"Then why are you nervous?"

Santana glances anxiously around the coffee shop. She's nervous because Brittany makes her feel like she's all of fourteen again on her first date, before the storm of fame hit her and instilled her with this sense of self-assurance. It's unnerving.

"I don't know," Santana replies instead. "I guess it just feels like you probably know a lot more about me than I do about you."

"And that makes you nervous?" Brittany tilts her head. "But you make your living off having strangers love you on the basis of an image you project and work hard at maintaining."

Taken aback, Santana stares wordlessly at Brittany for a moment, unsure how to respond.

"What I mean," Brittany explains with an apologetic smile, "is that I don't really know all that much about you. The real you, behind how your people want you to appear."

Santana smiles a little at that. "Not many people see that side of me anymore."

"I'd like to." Brittany nudges her playfully. "So relax, will ya? All I know about the real you is that you have an awesome voice and that you're totally hot." She takes a sip of coffee, and then her eyes light up. "Wait, I have an idea." She jerks up from her seat so quickly that the feet of the chair make an awful noise scraping against the floor. "Finish your coffee. No, take it with you."

\--

"Where are we?" Santana asks, staring up at a rather decrepit brick building. There are no signs anywhere, and Santana's sleek rented car sticks out like a sore thumb among a few beat-up clunkers spread across the small lot.

For the first time, Brittany appears almost shy. "You said you didn't know anything about me, so I wanted to show you where I spend a lot of my free time," she explains as she leads Santana to the door. "I dance and choreograph professionally to pay the bills, but this place is… well, why don't you come in?"

As soon as Santana steps inside, she's startled by the contrast. The walls are bright and freshly painted, some lined with colorful murals depicting dance in all forms, others with inspirational quotes and words of encouragement.

Brittany smiles fondly. "Me and my buddies Mike and Artie scraped together some money and bought this place a couple years back, transformed it into a dance center. Used to be a library, I think, a long time ago, but this isn't exactly the type of neighborhood where reading is encouraged, you know?"

A boy in his early teens appears out of one of the doors a little farther down the hallway. He lights up when he notices them standing there.

"Miss Pierce!"

He races up to Brittany and the two of them perform what appears to be a secret handshake, but with dance elements incorporated.

"Nathan, what did I tell you about calling me Miss Pierce?"

The boy, Nathan, looks sheepish. "Sorry, Teach. It's just so weird 'cause my baby sister's name is Brittany too." He turns, as though finally noticing Santana. "Whoa, you look just like that singer lady that Miss P—Brittany really likes."

Brittany flushes, then quickly tries to direct Nathan back to wherever he came from, but Nathan isn't having any of it.

"No, seriously, do you know who I'm talking about?" he continues. "There's a poster of her in Miss Pierce's office."

Visibly flustered, Brittany shakes her head. "Okay, Nathan. Leave her alone."

Nathan is still studying Santana when Brittany jostles him away. Once he's out of earshot, Brittany lets out a short, nervous laugh that makes Santana have the sudden and strong urge to kiss her.

"I'm really sorry about that. Maybe we should skip my office on the grand tour. I actually forgot that was there…"

"No," Santana laughs, "don't worry about it. I've gotten over the shock of randomly seeing my face in public."

Brittany nods, then takes Santana's hand and guides her to the door from which Nathan had appeared. Inside, a group of about fifteen is jamming to some hip-hop.

"The place is divided into two studios," Brittany explains. "Studio B is pretty much just a free space to dance. Keeps kids off the streets. Studio A across the hall is smaller, but we teach classes in there sometimes. Always free, and always open to everyone, as long as we have space."

Santana studies the dancers for a few minutes, feeling the passion radiating off their bodies. "How does this place stay afloat financially?"

"We got a massive deal on the building itself, so it's already paid in full. You should've seen the state of this place; last owner was eager to get rid of it. There was so much support when word got out about what we wanted to do that we barely had to pay out of pocket for the renovation. Local businesses helped out by volunteering their time and donating materials." Brittany's smile brims with pride. "So nowadays, it's just some electricity bills, maintenance costs, and property tax. Artie makes a fortune doing some super complicated computer stuff, and Mike and I chip in whenever we can. Everyone who works here is a volunteer, so there's no payroll. We get donations from time to time, too."

"I could maybe write a check," Santana offers.

Brittany softens. "No, Santana, I couldn't take your money." Before Santana has a chance to insist, Brittany tugs her back into the hallway. "Come on, let me show you the other studio. My favorite class is running right now."

A young man is sitting at the front of Studio A when Brittany and Santana peer in. Facing him are about half a dozen students of varying ages. An upbeat hip-hop track is booming from the speakers, much like in the other studio, and everyone seems to be engaged in the rhythm. The only difference is that all of the students and even the instructor are seated in wheelchairs.

Brittany leans in. "That's Artie."

Santana tries not to look shocked, but she knows she does a poor job of it because Brittany laughs.

"Yeah, he's pretty special. Sometimes we get able-bodied students wanting to join his classes, but they can barely keep up!"

After a few minutes of watching Artie work his class through some complex-looking choreography, Santana nudges Brittany.

"Hey, aren't you going to show me your office?"

Brittany's cheeks fill with color. "It's not that big a poster."

Santana grins. "I didn't say anything about a poster."

Brittany rolls her eyes but does lead Santana down the hallway to a small space with three desks. One has a wide opening and no chair, suggesting Artie. Personal effects are littered across the other two, and posters of dance groups, musicians, and sports teams line the walls. It takes Santana a moment to locate hers, plastered between one of Steve Nash and a group she doesn't recognize.

"Expected it to be bigger," Santana teases.

Brittany's face remains flushed, but she leans closer and lowers her voice. "My mental image is totally better."

"That's not playing fair," Santana groans. She eyes Brittany's desk and briefly wonders if there's anything on there that she can't replace if she swipes everything off it and presses Brittany down against it.

As though sensing Santana's intentions, Brittany giggles and pulls Santana away. "Let's get out of here."

\--

Santana walks into her suite after Brittany and shuts the door. Brittany kicks off her shoes at the entrance and immediately runs out to the balcony to admire the view. Santana follows a moment later and steps up beside her.

"You hungry?"

Brittany shoots her a wicked grin. "Depends on what you're offering."

Santana laughs. "I actually meant that the fridge is stocked, but—"

Brittany interrupts that thought by pressing her lips hard against Santana's, pulling her body closer. Santana responds by walking Brittany toward the general direction of _inside_ , and as soon as they're close enough to a couch, Brittany pushes Santana down on it, slanting her lips to nip at Santana's neck.

Santana throws her head back to give Brittany space. Her hands slide over Brittany's back along her suspenders, down to Brittany's ass, trying to memorize every curve. She untucks Brittany's shirt and fumbles with her suspenders for a moment before grunting in frustration and nudging Brittany's body up so her hands have room to manoeuver.

Brittany, straddling Santana's hips, smiles down at her and takes the opportunity to pull Santana's top over her head and toss it across the coffee table, then leans down to lavish attention to the exposed skin.

Lacking the dexterity to undo Brittany's suspenders, Santana chooses instead to slide them down Brittany's shoulders. Brittany rises for a moment to slip off her shorts, her panties going with them. Santana moans at the sight of Brittany, open and exposed, as she climbs over her again.

Santana runs her palms over the tight muscles of Brittany's abdomen, fingers dipping under Brittany's shirt. Sitting up, Santana brings the shirt over Brittany's head and throws it aside, then reaches around her to unclasp her bra. Brittany shakes that off and drops it on the floor.

Santana smiles up at Brittany before tilting her head down and wrapping her mouth around a nipple. Brittany arches, her hands sliding to the back of Santana's neck and holding on. The movements and sounds coming from Brittany are familiar, though they shouldn't be. Santana moves her mouth to the other breast while her hand curves over Brittany's thigh until her fingertips are brushing Brittany's center.

Brittany bucks her hips suddenly, rubbing against Santana's wandering hand. She eases Santana away from her chest and guides her up to meet her lips. Brittany's tongue is demanding as she licks into Santana's mouth, breath hot and heavy as she grinds her hips, seeking friction. The hands on Santana's neck slide down to unclasp her bra, which gets tugged away easily.

"Bed," Santana murmurs against Brittany's collarbone.

Brittany grins, her hands moving to cup Santana's breasts. "What's wrong with the couch?"

"Too small." Santana gasps when Brittany's thumbs roll over her hardened peaks. "Fuck, I want to spread you out on the bed and finger you until you can't move."

Brittany's thighs squeeze around Santana's hips. "If I can't move, how do I carry out my plans to go down on you after?" she teases.

Santana groans. "Bed, now."

Brittany laughs as she rises off the couch. Santana pushes herself to her feet and quickly strips off her jeans and underwear. Both fully naked now, Santana takes Brittany's hand and leads her to the master bedroom.

As soon as Brittany lies down on the bed, Santana climbs over her, trapping her with her limbs. Brittany squirms impatiently under her, but Santana takes her time to write to memory the lines of Brittany's face, her jaw, her parted lips.

"Never thought I'd get another chance to see you like this," Santana breathes out, marveling.

Santana leans down to press their lips together, and slowly, she slides a hand down over the curve of Brittany's breasts, across the flat plane of Brittany's abs, lower until her fingertips are resting between Brittany's thighs. Brittany arches and murmurs Santana's name against her lips.

Santana presses her fingers down and moans at the heat she finds there. She gathers a bit of moisture and rubs a quick circle around Brittany's clit, making Brittany break the kiss with a gasp as she shuts her eyes and spreads her legs. With two fingers, Santana enters Brittany with a quick jerk, and Brittany's hips buck up to meet her.

Santana's thrusts are slow and measured, careful but sure. She watches a flush creep up Brittany's neck, tingeing her cheeks, and she leans down to pepper kisses across Brittany's face.

"Thanks for showing me your dance center today," Santana murmurs.

Brittany moans in response, and Santana adds a third finger as her thumb rolls leisurely over Brittany's clit. Santana is suddenly desperate to make this more than just an orgasm. She buries her face against Brittany's neck, kissing a path across the soft skin she finds there. Santana's fingers pick up the pace, working faster and harder, and Brittany lets out a soft sound of approval.

"You should get rid of that poster and replace it with a framed photo," Santana says without thinking.

Brittany's eyes flutter open. She licks her lips but doesn't say anything. Santana hides her face again, this time by lowering herself to Brittany's breasts and closing her lips around a nipple. Brittany immediately arches, her hands sliding into Santana's hair as her body starts to tense. Santana plays gently with the nipple in her mouth, groaning when Brittany's grip tightens, but she lifts herself just in time to catch Brittany coming undone. Easing away from Brittany's hands, Santana slides lower and starts tonguing the sensitive flesh at the apex of her thighs as her fingers continue to thrust in and out. It doesn't take long for Brittany to climax a second time, body shuddering in pleasure, hands gripping the sheets.

Santana waits for Brittany to catch her breath before climbing her way back up and dropping a kiss to Brittany's jaw. Brittany's arms slide around Santana's torso, and Santana can feel the pads of Brittany's thumbs drawing small, haphazard circles across her lower back.

Brittany smiles. "Santana," she says, all soft and affectionate, before she rolls Santana to her back and settles a leg between hers. Brittany's soft blond hair rains down over Santana's face.

Santana likes the way her name rolls off Brittany's tongue, like she has all the time in the world for the syllables to flow from her lips. For Santana, who is always on a schedule, always racing for time, it's a breath of fresh air. She brings her hands up to Brittany's back and traces the hard ridges of her spine with her fingertips.

"Stay here tonight," Santana requests softly.

Brittany's eyes flicker to Santana's. "What?"

"Just… you should spend the night. Here. With me." Santana takes a deep breath, chastising herself for letting the anxiety creep into her voice.

Brittany's eyes soften. "Okay."

Santana opens her mouth to say more, but then Brittany's nudging her legs apart and sliding down to settle between them, and Santana has a hard time remembering what she'd wanted to say when Brittany's head dips and her breath is warm and eager over Santana's oversensitive skin.

Santana shuts her eyes and waits, but the contact never comes. Frustrated and aroused out of her mind, Santana cants her hips, searching. She hears Brittany laughing and opens her eyes to look at her.

Brittany runs her hands over Santana's thighs, down to her knees and back up again. Finally, she leans down and closes her mouth over Santana's center, tongue making lazy strokes along the warm flesh. Santana leans back and allows her eyes to flutter shut again, but as soon as they do, Brittany pulls away.

Santana squirms. "Brittany," she warns.

Brittany laughs again. "Open your eyes."

Santana complies and is immediately rewarded with the return of Brittany's lips and tongue. With Santana being forced to watch Brittany's head bob between her legs, it doesn't take long for Santana to find herself shaking with pleasure. Santana's body tenses up as she tumbles over, Brittany's name spilling from her lips at the height of her orgasm.

Brittany replaces her mouth with her fingers and climbs back up to hover over Santana. She leans down to press a kiss to Santana's lips as her fingers continue to rub slow circles. Eventually, she slows to a stop and lies down next to Santana.

Santana, aftershocks of pleasure still thrumming through her, reaches out and pulls Brittany's body closer until Brittany's back is pressed to her chest. She runs her hand up along Brittany's ribs until her palm is covering the curve of Brittany's breast.

Brittany yawns. "I want to play with your boobs too."

Santana laughs and presses a soft kiss to Brittany's shoulder blade. "It's only mid-afternoon, babe."

\--

After going a few more rounds – Brittany's appetite seems insatiable – Santana starts to feel actual hunger settle in her stomach and proposes dinner. Afraid of being caught on a date at a romantic restaurant, Santana orders in. Brittany doesn't seem to care, and the two of them take their food out to the balcony to eat and watch the sunset.

"Did you mean what you said?" Brittany asks after a few moments of silence.

Santana looks over. "About what?"

Brittany offers a smile that's almost apologetic. "Replacing the poster."

"Oh." Santana nods. "Yeah, I meant that. We can snap a photo later."

Brittany falls quiet, as though contemplating something, then, "When people ask about it, what do I tell them?"

Ultimately, Santana understands what Brittany is asking, but she doesn't know how to answer. In a perfect world, she knows exactly what she wants: Brittany, by her side, for a really long time. But she doesn't live in a perfect world, so she has to take a bunch of other stuff into consideration, like her career, and the media, and the people putting money into her pockets. Carefully, Santana turns the question around.

"What do you want to tell them?"

Brittany inhales deeply, and when she speaks, her tone remains gentle. "I'm not stupid, Santana. I know that I can't tell them what I want to tell them, for the same reason we're eating in instead of out right now."

Santana looks away. The sun is starting to set behind the skyscrapers, coloring the sky a vivid orange. The air is still warmed by a sweeping dry heat that is surprisingly comfortable against her skin. She can't find the words to explain to Brittany how she's drowning in all this attraction, all this fear, and that a small part of her had been hoping to get it all out of her system so she could move on with her life. Instead, she finds herself falling harder for this girl she barely knows.

"Is it stupid to hope that everything will fall into place?" Brittany asks quietly.

"What do you mean?"

Brittany's shoulders rise and fall in a shrug. "I know what this is, what we are, and yet I'm still hoping that I'm wrong."

"Brittany…"

For the first time since Santana first meets her, Brittany's unrelenting optimism seems to falter. "You have your life, and I have mine. We live in completely different worlds, Santana."

Santana keeps her eyes trained on the skyline. "There has to be a way to meet in the middle."

Brittany sighs. "How? You have this tour right now, but even at the end of it, I can't just leave all my friends and family behind and move my entire life to Los Angeles."

"Can you do that for two months?" Santana asks after a moment.

Brittany turns her head. "What are you asking?"

"Go on tour with me," Santana blurts out. "I could get you on the payroll," she continues. "Maybe as a choreographer. Even if—" She shakes her head, refusing to go there. "It'd look really good on your resume," she finishes weakly.

Brittany rises from her seat and takes a few steps toward Santana. She slides easily onto Santana's lap, her legs hanging off either side of the lounge chair. Her hands skim up Santana's jaw line and settle at the nape of her neck. Brittany leans down and presses a soft kiss against Santana's lips, then quietly lingers.

"What happens at the end of the tour?"

Santana pulls Brittany closer and drops kisses along the column of her neck. "I don't know. I'm just not ready to leave."

Brittany seems to consider it for a moment, then pulls back slightly to meet Santana's eyes. "Two months?"

Santana nods. "Two months."

Brittany smiles faintly, her head tilting back against the darkening sky. She looks beautiful, but more than that, she looks fearless, unafraid in the face of uncertainty. Santana envies her for it. Brittany lets out a soft laugh, like she can't quite believe what she's about to say.

"Okay. I'll go on tour with you."


End file.
